Mayor Of My Pajamas

I am the mayor of my own pajamas.
My bunny slippers look to me to lead
As real-life baby rabbits do their mamas.
That I’m in charge my nightclothes have agreed.
As writers who suppress their Oxford commas
In deference to editors whose ands
Prefer their unencumbrance, or like llamas
Who take their lumps (the camel understands),
My PJs have elected me their mayor
And do my bedly bidding; I’ll that trust
Repay in kind, as best befits the layer
Protecting me in sleep. Because I must.
(P.S. This verse would constitute a sonnet
Had I thought to tack a couplet on it.)


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